


Beneath The Dreadfort

by Deathtouch



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs With Teeth, Blowjobs, Choking, Creepy, Crying, M/M, Oral Sex, Rough Oral Sex, Sobbing, blowjob, oH BOY THIS IS ALWAYS SO HARD, suffocation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-08
Updated: 2014-09-08
Packaged: 2018-02-16 14:06:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2272593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deathtouch/pseuds/Deathtouch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>☛ In which Ramsay learns that Domeric likes to be choked.</p><p>  <i>Ramsay reached out for Domeric’s throat, palm sliding over his brother’s warm skin, fingers wrapping around and into place. He squeezed softly. Domeric was so surprised he dropped the torch.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Beneath The Dreadfort

**Author's Note:**

> this fic is a gift to the amazing [@ramsaybolton](https://twitter.com/ramsayboIton) on twitter (aka [dreadfort.co.vu](http://dreadfort.co.vu/)) for being fun, and funny, and fantastic, and a full enabler to my medical fetish. :)
> 
> and as always i owe a big huge thank you to my amazing beta [subwaywolf](http://archiveofourown.org/users/SubwayWolf/pseuds/SubwayWolf) without whom i would not be writing any asoiaf fanfic at all. if you enjoy my work, you are in a debt of gratitude to subwaywolf because if it wasn't for him who knows what garbage i'd be writing instead. thank you so much wolf boy :) :) :)
> 
> ok on with the show!

“What’s down there?” Ramsay asked, inclining his head towards a gaping maw of a pit in the ground. Only the first three steps were illuminated before it plunged into complete darkness. The torchlight made the steps glow red and yellow and orange and gold. Ramsay saw bones; femurs and ribs, humerus bones and fibula. Skulls lined the walls, that he could see, hundreds of them. There were even more that he could barely make out in the blackness of the pit as it descended down.

It was a horrible thing, this cavernous opening in the ground, worse than the skeletal hands that lined the walls of the main hall, worse than the dungeons that stank of human bodies and the torture chambers where blood stained the walls, smelling sweet with rot. Horrible as they were, Ramsay had not been afraid of either place… and he wasn’t scared of this pit either. He was curious. He wanted to go down and see it.

Domeric stepped in close so that he could see what Ramsay was looking at from his line of sight. He leaned against Ramsay’s shoulder, and blinked…

Ramsay stepped away, annoyed by the touch.

“Those are the crypts,” Domeric told him quietly.

“What do you mean crypts?” He asked, scowling.  
  
Ramsay might have asked that question a hundred times today, only not with the word ‘crypts’, with other things that he didn’t know and hadn’t seen before. Ramsay knew what a crypt was, he wasn’t stupid. He just… they weren’t usually caves of human bones, were they? He had never really seen one, a proper one. He didn’t know. He was so sick of not knowing. He was sick of asking things. He was sick of Domeric having all the answers he didn’t.

“Our brothers were laid to rest down there.” Domeric said. “And my mother. All of our family going back ages and ages well before you or I were ever born.”

Ramsay had killed men before. Clubbed them with rocks on their heads or beat them with his fists until they stopped fighting back. He had wrapped his arm or his fingers around their throats and felt them struggle. No one ever took their body away to lay them down in some skeleton pit. They just laid there on the ground and rotted away.

“That’s their bones, then? Our brothers?” Ramsay asked, jerking his chin towards a skull he saw jutting out a little further than the others that lined the wall. It didn’t matter how many times Domeric said “our” in front of the word “family” it didn’t mean anything to Ramsay. Those bones weren’t anyone he knew.

Domeric laughed softly. Ramsay might like to wrap his hands around _his_ throat and feel _him_ struggle if he had to hear that soft laugh again. 

“No,” he said, patient and kind. “No, no. This is an ossuary.” He waited a beat, but Ramsay didn’t ask. Domeric saw that scowl twist angrier on his brother’s face, and so he explained. “The flayed man is on our banners, and there’s many things you can do with the skin of your enemies… but there’s not much to make of their bones. Most oft we place them down here, the ones we kill at the Dreadfort, at least. It’s… almost a tradition. The ossuary was here before our father’s father, and his father before that. Already filled and waiting to be filled some more. We don’t have better use for the bones, why not add to the pile? There are common folk down there too, family members ask to put bones of loved ones to rest in the catacombs down there. We keep the two lots separated, to be sure. The commoners and our enemies. As should be true in life, you don’t want the common folk…”

Ramsay thought maybe Domeric was about to go on chatting about something utterly boring. He did that more and more often as he got more and more comfortable with Ramsay. Ramsay was getting more and more sick of it. He snatched the torch off the sconce and it was hot in his hand but he started down the skeletal steps anyway. “I’m going down,” he announced. Anything not to hear Domeric keep talking.

“No, Ramsay.” Domeric said after him, in an awfully domineering way for someone who usually so reserved. Ramsay didn’t care for it, and when he heard his brother speaking like that, _giving commands_ , it only made him that much more adamant to ignore it.

He passed the cavernous threshold of the pit’s mouth and began making his way down the stairs. The bones cracked and creaked under his feet. Ramsay thought maybe it wasn’t a good idea to make a set of stairs out of bones. Bones were brittle, and broke. He’d broken other people’s bones; he knew how easy they could snap. When he swung the torch down and had a better look he saw there was dirt and earth packed underneath them. Domeric caught up with him as he stopped, and grabbed Ramsay by the arm.

Ramsay jerked away. “You said you’d show me everything.” He said suddenly; _accusingly_. “Every inch of the Dreadfort, you said. I would know it all like I’d lived here.” In truth he didn’t really care about every inch of the Dreadfort. That promise, and the other promises Domeric had made to him back at the mill were equally as disinteresting. He only wanted to go further because Domeric had stopped him.

“It’s a maze down there.” Domeric explained. “We’d get lost.”

 _Maybe you’ll get lost_ , Ramsay thought. _I’ll smash your skull against a wall of skulls and leave you down there with your brothers._ _I’ll tell our lord father you lost your way in the dark. What a shame that would be_.

“You’d best remember which way we go then.” Ramsay told him. He started off again, sure footed on the creaking steps. He did not slow down or turn back.

It was a long way down the staircase. The skulls that lined the walls were in neat rows, packed together tight. The size rarely varied, though some were missing teeth or had mashed in noses or crumbling eye sockets. The staircase went on, and on, and on; darker with each step, colder and stiller and quieter. It might be an ominous place, should Ramsay only stop and think about what he was descending into. If he stopped his brother would be on him again, grabbing his arm, trying to talk “sense” into him, as if he had none. Ramsay did not slow.   
  
At the bottom of the steps a tunnel stretched on ahead of him. Ramsay held the torch up high, casting as much light as he could down the dark hall. He saw bones overhead, locked in place to make a curved ceiling. A maze, he scoffed. It was just a straight tunnel. He could hear Domeric catching up behind him, so Ramsay continued on.

In his hurry, Ramsay nearly ran into the end of the tunnel when he met it. A wall of gaping skulls smiled at him. He smiled back. To his left the tunnel continued. To his right, the tunnel also continued. “Ramsay.” Domeric called from behind him, growing increasingly frustrated. Ramsay turned left and crossed through an archway. Ah, and it _was_ a maze. The tunnel twisted, and turned, and open up to three different paths. All of it was lined with skulls and bones and bones and skulls, a macabre labyrinth of death.

Though Ramsay would have liked to hurry on ahead and loose Domeric somewhere behind him for good, he needed to devise a way to find himself back out again. It would be no good if he actually did get lost. “Which way should we go?” He called over his shoulder to where Domeric was frantically closing in on him.

“Back!” He said, exasperated. He grabbed for Ramsay again, and Ramsay jerked away.

“Someone will find us if we get lost,” Ramsay said. “They’re not like to leave you down here in the dark.”

Domeric had a stern look on his face, serious and hard. “No, Ramsay. There isn’t anyone left who knows these tunnels. Not anymore. If we get lost, no one will find us. No matter how hard they look.”

Ramsay felt like smiling. He _was_ smiling.  
  
Left he would go. The farthest left there was no matter how many paths the tunnel split into, and then right, and then left and right again. Left, right, left, right. He would go as far as he could. He would leave Domeric there, and no one would find him no matter how hard they looked. He would trace his way back, right, left, right, left, and see himself out of the crypts with ease. Oh, it was so simple, and to think he was going to try poisoning Domeric instead. How ridiculous.

“Just a little further,” Ramsay encouraged, trying to find that sweet and patient tone that Domeric always spoke with. It didn’t sound as sweet and patient coming from him, but he tried.

“No,” Domeric insisted.

“You said your brothers were down here. … _our_ brothers. Where?” Maybe he could get Domeric to walk a little father. Just a little. “Show me.”

Domeric’s face was so serious. His eyes searched Ramsay’s for understanding. “Ramsay…” He reached out for his brother’s arm, to rest a hand there kindly. Ramsay pulled back, stepping just out of his reach. Domeric only sighed. “If I take you to their resting place, you’ll go back? No more wandering down here in the dark?”

Ramsay nodded.

“This way.” Domeric agreed, finally. He turned right.  
  
“What?” Ramsay panicked for a flash of a moment. “You know the way? You said no one knew the tunnels down here.” Not only did this interfere with his plans, he’d been lied to. Ramsay’s fists clenched, one by his side and one around the torch in his hand.  
  
“I only know the way to our family.” Domeric told him. “But stay with me, and don’t stray. If you get lost…” He stopped and looked stricken. “Ramsay…” his voice fell somewhere soft. It was so quiet down here in the dark, it was easy to hear his small whisper. “I can’t lose you now that I’ve found you… I… I’d be sick with grief… I…”

Ramsay thought he might be sick too. Sick at his brother’s sentiment, and the thought of his easy little plan being ripped right out from under him. He sighed and tried not to sound as impossibly annoyed as he felt. “Go on then.” He waved Domeric along with the torch. “Lead. I won’t wander off.”  
  
He would just have to remember which corners and tunnels they took. He could manage that. Domeric would lead him in, and Ramsay would lead himself out. It would be fine. It would work out fine.

Some tunnels were full of skulls, and some were stacked with other bones. Some were neatly lined, others jumbled messes, others wrought in patterns that were intricate and surprisingly beautiful despite the fact that the walls and ceiling were made of human remains. Ramsay got less than a glance at most of their morbid surroundings, he was too busy trying to make sense of where they were and which way they were going, so that he would be able to get back.  
  
One tunnel they passed through opened up into a grand cavernous chamber. Their footsteps began to echo, whereas before they were muffled, swallowed up by the porous bones that lined the walls. Ramsay handed over the torch, reluctantly, when Domeric held out his hand for it. Domeric lit another torch he found on the wall. And then another. Slowly the darkness began to illuminate, a dull flickering yellow.

There were people inside the chamber with them. Ramsay’s body flushed hot with a sudden sting of fear, but after a moment he realized it was only skeleton centurions; not real people.  
  
Ahead of them was a cavernous stone archway, flanked by dead soldiers in rusted armor and mail. The skeletons held swords in their hands, and they kept guard of the stone behind them. They did a good job keeping their guard, it seemed. They had certainly frightened Ramsay, if only for a second. There was a likeness of a flayed man carved into the door of the archway the skeletons were protecting. Ramsay couldn’t make out much detail in the darkness.

“There.” Domeric pointed with the torch. “Our brothers are in there.”

Ramsay thought the articulated skeletons were a lot more impressive than a stone door. He wondered if there was anything worth seeing _behind_ the door. “Can we go in?”

He wandered closer. It suddenly occurred to him that he could snatch up a sword and use that to kill his brother. He hadn’t thought about that. Hiding the body down here would be easy, but he would need a body to hide first. Preferably a dead one, so that his brother couldn’t come wandering out of the crypts in two days with a story to tell.

Ramsay saw the finger bones of the nearest skeleton were wrapped tight around its sword hilt, but it would be easy enough for him to tear the weapon free. Domeric was better with a sword than he was, but as Ramsay glanced at his brother’s waist he saw only a dagger there and no larger blade. It wouldn’t be hard to overpower him. Ramsay was bigger and thicker, despite being younger. He had the advantage.

“We can’t go in, it’s sealed.” Domeric explained. “Might be they’ll open it should another Bolton pass away, gods forbid.” He took slow steps towards the archway, drawing closer and closer to where Ramsay was standing. His eyes were on the door, and there was an unreadable expression on his face. “We’re not meant to go in there.” He continued, his voice dwindling down to a low whisper again. “It’s meant to stay quiet and still. Empty. Dark. Alone.”

“Alone?” Ramsay said. His voice, louder than a whisper, gave Domeric a small start. “I thought you said they were there together. The whole family.” Well. Not the whole family. Domeric wasn’t in there, but he might be soon, if Ramsay had his way.

Domeric might have been blushing, or it was the torchlight turning his pale skin a curious color instead. “Yes. Well. You’re right, I suppose.”

Ramsay stiffened in confusion. Domeric hadn’t said that to him once. Not _once_. Not this whole time he’d been here.

“There are… mausoleums, at the Redfort. Not catacombs like this. They are small enough, with stone caskets where bodies are sealed after death. I… I might have been thinking of them. Dark and empty and alone. The stone’s cool to the touch, I… I’d imagine they’re cool inside as well.” Domeric reached out with one hand and touched the stone archway with gentle fingers. Ramsay saw him bite his lip.  “All the air goes out of them, you see. If you pry one open a wind rushes in to fill the space. Mychel used to tell me tales of men who’d been sealed alive to try and scare me.” Domeric laughed, and he didn’t sound very scared. He sounded quite like another thing. “The stone’s too hard to lift alone. They’re stuck. Stuck in darkness, with no way out. They don’t go hungry through, it’s not the starvation that kills them. It’s their breath that leaves them.” He shuddered.

Ramsay had heard his brother go off mumbling softly about things before, but not like this. “Awful way to die.” He muttered, not sure what else to say. Truth be told, it would be a clean way to send his brother off. Too bad there weren’t any stone mausoleums for Domeric to be sealed into.

“No.” Domeric disagreed, sounding rather sad. He lowered his eyes and shook his head. “It’s a beautiful way to die.”

“Beautiful?” Ramsay repeated. He’d seen dead bodies. He wouldn’t call them beautiful, no matter the way they died. It was never really beautiful in the end.

“Suffocating.” Domeric pulled his hand back and touched his fingers to his own throat, and closed his eyes. His touch lingered for a moment before sliding down to his chest. 

Ramsay considered it. He could give his brother a beautiful death. They didn’t have any stone to seal him away, but Ramsay had hands and Domeric had a neck. It might be nice to squeeze the life out of him. To squeeze his smart laugh from his throat. To squeeze out the annoying words that Domeric whispered to him in hushed tones. To squeeze out every last command he thought he could give simply because he was older, and better, and not a bastard. Suffocating him would be quicker than a swordfight and much easier than a beating. It wasn’t the best plan, but none of this was. It had the potential to work, and that was all Ramsay needed to give it a try. 

Ramsay reached out for Domeric’s throat, palm sliding over his brother’s warm skin, fingers wrapping around and into place. He squeezed softly. Domeric was so surprised he dropped the torch. It darkened on the packed dirt of the earthen floor but did not go out. “Ramsay.” He gasped.

“Shh.” Ramsay said to him, squeezing just a little more. He was soft, and gentle, and careful to begin with. “You like this?” He whispered. It would be better if his brother did not struggle. If he thought he was safe with Ramsay, he wouldn’t.

“We… can’t.” Domeric shuddered. He glanced at Ramsay from the side of his eye, but did not move to resist.

“We can.” Ramsay used his grip on Domeric’s throat to turn him; a gentle urge and a soft push and he had his brother backed up against the stone tomb instead of staring lustfully at it. This way they were face to face, and this way Domeric was much more vulnerable. 

“Ramsay.” Domeric stuttered to say, having let himself be lead like a lamb to the slaughter.

“Domeric.” Ramsay whispered to him. He stepped in closer, and gave Domeric’s throat another small squeeze.

“We’re brothers.” Domeric gasped, but that excuse hadn’t worked when Ramsay had gotten on his knees and licked Domeric’s cock at the mill, so it wasn’t like to work now. Ramsay squeezed harder now, choking any further protest. Domeric’s throat was so fragile in his hand, aching to be crushed. Ramsay could feel his body tense under his fingers, and he saw the way it rippled throughout, making Domeric tremble all over. Still, he did not struggle. He did not try to get away. He was making it so easy…

Domeric raised his hand, and he caught Ramsay’s wrist but did not try to pull it away, instead he encouraged him on. “Please.” Domeric managed, a choked rasp, forcing the sound out. Ramsay obliged. He dug his fingertips in and shoved hard, pinning his brother to the stone by his neck. Harder he pressed, harder and harder and harder. Domeric’s face turned ruddy red. Even in the dull torchlight there was no mistaking it. His lips parted, and he struggled for breath. His mouth made the motions of gasping, and Ramsay could feel his throat convulse. Hard as he tried, he couldn’t force air through.

Ramsay hadn’t quite seen his brother like this before. Domeric had been rather flustered when Ramsay sucked his cock the first time. His ears had gone red and he acted like he didn’t like it, but he shuddered and cried when he came. This was different though. Here he was begging. Please, he had said. _Please_. Ramsay had liked that. He wanted to hear it again, he wanted to hear Domeric beg for it. The only sounds his brother could make now were wet choking noises as he gasped.

Ramsay released his grip very suddenly.

Domeric cried out, and scrambled to keep Ramsay’s hand in place.  He offered a pathetic sob. “Don’t don’t don’t don’t don’t.” He rasped in a thick broken voice. “Don’t stop. Please. Please don’t stop.”

Domeric’s begging lit a fire in him, and Ramsay felt warm all over. He still wanted his brother dead, no doubt, but… maybe… maybe not today.  Maybe not when he could enjoy toying with Domeric a little while longer. He could endure his brother for a few weeks, a few months. For so long as his throat welcomed hands to bruise it, and he continued to cry out for the abuse. How could Ramsay have known his big brother would look so sweet when he was weak for something? How was he supposed to end it all now that he knew he could have more of this?

Ramsay gave Domeric’s throat another gentle squeeze, one that left his brother aching for more. “Keep begging.” He said.

Domeric practically sobbed in reply. “Please!” He said, gripping Ramsay’s wrist tighter, urging him on. He gasped for breath, to sob again, or cry out louder and as soon as his lungs were full Ramsay tightened his grip. He crushed Domeric’s throat as hard as he dared.

In his silly little story about being sealed away, Domeric described the suffocation as beautiful. It seemed to Ramsay that he quite liked the pain of a choking though. Perhaps it wasn’t beautiful, but it certainly did something to his big brother. Domeric’s eyes closed, and his fingers clawed haphazardly at Ramsay’s wrist. His body began to fight, to struggle for air, but his resistance wasn’t real. He wanted it. He wanted so badly to have his breath denied to him. He wanted to be powerless against his body’s involuntary will to breathe. Oh, and he was. Ramsay made sure of that.  
  
Ramsay fed on the power that came with denying him, and the control that came with overpowering someone smaller and slighter and deliciously weaker. Weaker, and weaker, and weaker. The more he struggled, the more Domeric wore himself out. He gasped and shook and choked for breath, and found none. His grip on Ramsay’s wrist began to slacken. His face turned an odder shade still. Ramsay could feel his blood pulsing under his fingertips. He could feel the steady beat of that pulse slowing. His brother’s eyes rolled, and his head lolled, and his body went slack…

Ramsay would have liked to keep him pinned there, to the stone. He could still feel a pulse. It would be so easy to squeeze and squeeze until it was gone… but he would never get to hear his big brother beg quite like that again.

Ramsay let go and Domeric slumped to the floor. He had to nudge the torch out of the way to keep the flames from licking at his brother’s limp body. Domeric’s breath was a hollow rasp, and there were pale white marks where Ramsay’s hand had been. They would turn to bruises soon. Ramsay watched him for a moment and immediately considered taking off all of Domeric’s clothes and fucking his big brother in the dirt with thousands of years’ worth of skeletons to watch them. Ramsay smiled at the thought. He was just about to do it when he saw Domeric’s face twist. Fear and pain and hurt flashed through him, and all of a sudden he was crying.

Domeric coughed, and warm tears rolled down his face, and he quickly moved to hide his weakness with a hand. “Mychel.” He sobbed. His voice sounded awful, like he was sick or dying or worse.

“Ramsay.” Ramsay said back, annoyed. It was bad enough that they called him Snow instead of Bolton, and now Domeric was getting his first name wrong too. This only seemed to make Domeric sob harder. Ramsay didn’t usually mind crying, but this annoyed him. “What’s wrong?” He asked, crouching down. “Didn’t you like that?”

Domeric had to collect himself for a moment, and through his tears and his sniffling and his fingers hiding his face he tried to speak. “You…” He sounded pained, and he stopped to soften his voice. “I… a moment… give me a moment.” His rough voice broke and he started to cry again.  
  
Maybe Domeric’s boyfriend back at the Redfort had held him and kissed him and made him laugh after he squeezed his throat till he passed out, but Ramsay wasn’t like to do the same. He was different than Lord Redfort’s sons, and Domeric was going to have to learn that sooner or later.  
  
Ramsay watched as his brother regained some of his breath. Domeric wiped away his tears and steadied himself, though only just barely.  
  
“Come on, we’ve only just started.” Ramsay moved closer, and Domeric held up a hand to keep him away.  
  
“Don’t,” Domeric croaked. “We shouldn’t have done that.”  
  
Ramsay’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Shouldn’t have done what? All he did was choke Domeric a little. All things considered, this was _tame_. This was nothing like what had happened back at the mill, and Domeric had said the same damn thing then.  
  
Unless…  
  
Ramsay laughed, and reached out faster than Domeric could stop him. “Have you come already?” He asked, incredulous.  
  
He palmed the crotch of his brother’s clothes. Domeric made a feeble attempt to fight him off, but he was weakened from blacking out. He was blushing a flustered red. “Don’t!” he tried to say loudly, but his voice was raw and rough from the choking and he ended up coughing instead. He squirmed away from Ramsay, embarrassed.  
  
Ramsay laughed at him again. He couldn’t feel any wetness but Domeric was soft. Considering how excited he’d been, literally begging for it, it shouldn’t feel so limp in Ramsay’s hand. He must have come. “To think I spent all that time on my knees for you at the mill, when all I had to do was wrap my hands around your throat to make you spill your seed.”  
  
Domeric groaned, half humiliated and half enticed by the thought of Ramsay choking him again. The whole thing might have been charming if it was happening to someone else, somewhere else. This whole thing might have a happier ending if this was happening to someone else, to be honest.

Ramsay wasn’t intent on killing his brother any longer, at least not down here and not today… he was pretty certain of that, but he wasn’t satisfied. This was twice now that Domeric had come under the labor or Ramsay’s efforts, and Domeric hadn’t even offered to return the favor. Some brother he was. This was especially unfair because Domeric had gotten him so worked up with all that pleading and begging and struggling.  
  
“Your throat still works, I trust.” Ramsay said then. He slid his fingers up from Domeric’s lap to the waistband of his breeches and tugged, not pulling them down but instead dragging his brother closer.  
  
“W-what?” Domeric let himself be dragged along, but shook his head. “Ramsay. N-“ he tried to use that awful authoritative tone of his, to give an order it would seem, but instead he winced in pain and his voice cracked. “No,” he continued in a whisper after a moment.  
  
“No? It doesn’t?” Ramsay inferred. “We’ll make do.”  
  
Domeric tried to sit up, but Ramsay was quicker and heavier and he pinned Domeric by his chest to the ground. “You owe me.” Ramsay said suddenly, and although he was feeling vicious and cruel he managed to make that sound slightly less aggressive than he felt. Ramsay wanted that power back, he wanted the control… he wanted Domeric to make him come the way he had made Domeric come.  
  
Domeric closed his eyes, defeated for a moment. “Let me up, I…” he swallowed and grimaced in pain. “I’ll… my throat works just fine. I’ll show you.”  
  
Ramsay hesitated. “Beg for it.”  
  
Domeric opened his eyes and offered his brother a defiant glare. “I’m not going to…!”  
  
Ramsay’s hand found his brother’s throat again, and he encircled the tender flesh of his neck. He didn’t squeeze, but he didn’t have to. Domeric was utterly weak for it. Just the simple touch cut him off, and he gave into the first press of gentle pressure. “Please,” he whispered.  
  
“Please what?” Ramsay asked him.  
  
“Please, choke me.” Domeric begged. He stared up at Ramsay, and his glare was gone as quickly as it had crossed his features. His desperation from earlier had returned, though subdued.  
  
That wasn’t the answer Ramsay wanted to hear, and he nearly clenched his fist around Domeric’s throat in anger. If that wasn’t exactly what Domeric would have wanted, it’s what he might have done.  
  
Domeric reached out blindly, and his hand found Ramsay’s side. His fingers felt along until he found the soft bulge of Ramsay’s cock through his clothes. He grabbed his brother the way his brother had grabbed him, not moments ago, only Domeric found a much harder handful. “Choke me with it.”    
  
How was Ramsay supposed to deny him?  
  
Domeric struggled to sit up, and Ramsay let him. How Domeric ended up on his knees was a blur in the dark, but that was fine. It didn’t matter how, just so long that it was happening. The flames of the torch lit his brother in yellows and golds from underneath. His neck was already turning colors, odd colors. Ramsay delighted at the sight.  
  
He barely got to his feet before Domeric was reaching out with his hands for the laces of Ramsay’s breeches. They were ugly pink things that he’d been given when he arrived at the Dreadfort. A gift, Domeric had called the clothes. Ramsay was uncomfortable in the finery, and he was glad to see it stripped away from him.  
  
Domeric’s hands were shaking, fingers trembling. “I…” He swallowed, looking pained, and glanced up at Ramsay. There were tear tracks down his face from his crying fit earlier. Ramsay groaned at the sight of them. “I’ve only… a few times…” His quiet voice trailed off and his face flashed with concern. He might have realized, then, what he was getting himself into. Ramsay didn’t let him rethink. He reached down for his brother’s face and squeezed gently at his jaw. Domeric’s soft lips parted for him.  
  
Ramsay used his free hand to finish pushing away the fabric of his clothes, where Domeric’s trembling fingers had failed to follow through. His cock sprang free, thick and full. It found Domeric’s mouth in the dim light, warm and waiting.  
  
If Domeric had begged to suck his cock Ramsay might have let him get to work here. Let his lips close around the head, let his cheeks hollow, let his tongue swirl and lick and tease, let him raise his hands to help finish the job. Domeric had begged to be choked though, and that was different.  
  
“Take a breath,” Ramsay instructed, and it felt so right to be the one giving orders instead. It felt even better to see Domeric comply. The surge of power that came from Domeric’s obedience thrummed through him, and it was all Ramsay could do not to thrust his hips forward and fuck straight into his brother’s mouth. He did slowly begin to slide his cock in, but it was gentle compared to what his body was aching to do. Domeric took it well enough, until it reached the back of his throat and he gagged. His hands flew up to Ramsay’s hips, grasping, trying to keep Ramsay’s cock at bay. It was little use. Ramsay was the one in control here, finally, and if he wanted his cock pressed right against the soft pink of the back of Domeric’s throat, that was exactly where he was going to put it.  
  
Domeric gagged again, and a soft gasp escaped him.  
  
“Ah, ah.” Ramsay’s hand threaded through his brother’s hair. He gave the dark strands a tug. The convulsions of his brother’s throat felt delicious, that wasn’t the problem he had, it was that little gasp for air. “Hold your breath.”  
  
Domeric squeezed his eyes shut, and even though it was dark down here in the catacombs, Ramsay could see fresh tears on his lashes. Domeric’s nails dug into Ramsay’s skin, at the soft flesh of his waist. He scratched, nails dragging, in a desperate attempt to control himself. He failed, and his poor abused throat heaved again, and he gagged harder. He gulped, and swallowed, and gagged. Muffled noises in pain were lost amongst his throat’s convulsing.  
  
Ramsay drank it all in. The pleasure was there; real and raw and intense. Domeric’s mouth was wet, and his throat was warm, and his tongue twisted and worked along the underside of Ramsay’s cock, straining against the obstruction. It was unpredictable and inconsistent, unique and oddly enjoyable.  
  
Like his big brother, Ramsay didn’t necessarily need stimulation to his cock to come, though. Domeric’s inexperience was divine in its own way, but the real pleasure was in watching him suffer.  
  
Every gag and aborted gasp and muffled little whimper sent pleasure tingling down Ramsay’s spine. It was erotic, and explicit, and right but so wrong but that’s what made it right again. Domeric’s tears spread from his lashes down his cheeks, and that was its own pulse of excitement that twisted up in Ramsay’s belly and made him feel that much closer to coming. As his breath wore out, Domeric’s face turned a dark ruddy red. The color suited him. It was another pulse of pleasure, bringing him closer. Domeric’s fingers clenched, and his nails dug in and clawed as he tried his damnedest not to gasp again… not that much would have happened if he did with Ramsay’s fat cock choking his throat. His sincere attempt at following orders and his implicit submission was another hot pulse of pleasure. Ramsay was so close. So close. _So close_.  
  
Domeric gasped, in earnest. His breath had run out, and he was like to go black and pass out again if he didn’t try for air. Only when he gasped, he found none, and he panicked. Ramsay felt like laughing out loud. He almost did. The panic was picturesque, and perfect, and his whole body ached in response to it… but Domeric’s panic included a little too much teeth; teeth digging into tender flesh it shouldn’t.  
  
Ramsay cried out in angry pain. He gave his brother’s hair a hard tug, and a shrill sound escaped Domeric’s throat. That cry might have been just the thing Ramsay needed, if it weren’t for his damn teeth ruining the moment. “Stop biting!” Ramsay shouted. His loud voice echoed in the empty chamber, bouncing off the walls of bones that surrounded them. As soon as he could pull his cock free without fear of it being bitten off, he did.  
  
Domeric fell to his hands and knees, one palm planted firmly in the dirt. The other he rubbed his sore little throat with, choking and gagging still. “I’m sorry!” He tried to say as he coughed and swallowed and gulped for breath. His voice sounded terrible like it was ripping its way free, so painful it made even Ramsay cringe.  
  
There was something to be said for someone who knew how to use teeth correctly, but Domeric didn’t know how to do that. Ramsay tried to inspect the damage, but in the dark he could scarcely see if the skin had been broken. Gods help Domeric if he was bleeding. The urge to choke his brother to death returned, violently, and this time Ramsay would use his hands.  Better yet, he would smash Domeric’s stupid head against that ugly stone doorway and watch his brains splatter.  
  
That was where he belonged. Beneath the Dreadfort, with the rest of his brothers.   
  
“I…” Domeric was shaking like a leaf. “Forgive me.” He begged Ramsay in his broken voice.  
  
He was lucky he looked so sweet on his hands and knees… _begging_. Ramsay had no intention of forgiving him though. Not for this. Not for being born first. Not for being the rightful heir. Not for anything. Not ever.


End file.
